The Warmth
by wildwordwomyn
Summary: What starts out as a nightmare leads to a dreamy kiss...


Title: The Warmth

Author: wildwordwomyn

Word Count: 976

Rating: PG-13 for some darkness and a cuss word

Fandom/Pairing: Leverage pre-slash starring Eliot/Hardison, mention of the team

Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight spoilers for "The Grave Danger Job". No own. Not real.

Author's Notes: Um, I really don't know where this came from. I saw the *staringout* prompt for 11-16-2011 (#883) and this is what I wrote. Hopefully it doesn't suck...:-/

Summary: What starts out as a nightmare leads to a dreamy kiss...

_Dirt. Darkness. The dwindling level of oxygen and the sickeningly sweet odor of death clinging to your skin. It's hard to breathe here, hard to know how much time has passed. It could have been minutes, hours, days, and you wouldn't know. You can't see anything. All you know is you're trapped and you can't get out. It's so damn small, this space you occupy, and you're too damn big in it. You can't maneuver, can't lift your legs to kick, can't stretch your arms to punch your way out. But isn't this how it always goes? You stuck in a world of someone else's choosing, cold, alone? No one is coming to save you. God, you can't even scream for help. Every time you fill your lungs to breathe you become aware of how little air is left and yet you must keep inhaling and exhaling. The sound of your body doing what needs to be done is all you have. You have to stay alive..._

"Hey, hey! Hardison, wake up, damn it!" he growls into your ear. "Hardison!"

It's only when Eliot lays a hand on your shoulder to shake you that you blink, realize it's daylight. The sun streams through the windows of his living room, bright and warm on your face as you sit slumped on his sofa. Eliot sits next to you, his own body leaning against yours. His face is a mere inches away, his eyes shadowy, concerned.

"You with me?" he asks, his tone softer now that your conscious again. If you didn't know better you'd say he sounds almost tender, loving, but you do. Know better. Don't you?

You wipe your palms across your face roughly, trying to rid your head of feelings and images that linger from the nightmare. "Huh?"

"You were whimpering..." Once the older man takes stock of his proximity to you he backs closer to the other end of the sofa. "You okay, man?"

You smile and answer, "Yeah, El. Just not getting enough sleep is all. I'm fine." The worried expression on his face doesn't change. He saw right through your weak words and that smile was half-hearted at best.

"Right..." He lets it go. Standing, he starts to walk to the kitchen. "Don't ask, don't tell. I get it." If anyone does, though, it's Eliot.

For the next hour Hardison helps the hitter pull weeds out of his vegetable garden and tend to his overgrown tomato plant. He tries not to think of how claustrophobic the dream had made him feel, reminding himself that he's outside in the open. Eliot's here, which means he's free, safe. He's okay. But it still haunts him.

Back inside the apartment Eliot prepares dinner while Hardison watches from a stool on the other side of the island. He can tell the man is stealing looks at him and wondering what's going on. Thankfully he doesn't pry. Hardison finally breaks during a moment when Eliot turns to add some fresh thyme to a pot of soup simmering on the stove.

"I was in a dark place. In my dream, I mean. Dark and cold and really, really small." When Eliot turns back around his face is calm so he continues. "Before I was sent to Nana's there was a foster family I stayed with. The, uh, father, wasn't very nice to me." It's a gross understatement compared to how that man had treated him but Hardison can't say out loud what he really did. No matter how much he wants to. "I ain't good in small spaces, man. I just...I ain't good in 'em." He raises his head to look into Eliot's eyes.

For the first time Eliot Spencer is speechless. Hardison waits for a kind word or maybe a gruff word, or, hell, a grunt even. The older man says nothing. He drops his gaze, afraid he's said too much now. There are things the team doesn't know about him, things he won't even speak of on his deathbed. And yet he'd wanted to tell Eliot at least a little. Why, he has no idea. Maybe because he's pretty sure he'd be able to relate. Or maybe not. Eliot is still silent.

"Forget I said anything. I'm just tired."

"Tired, huh? Is that why you didn't look me in the eye when you said that?" Hardison blinks, shaking his head. Hardison..." Hardison retreats inside himself, feeling like a fool for saying anything at all. "Alec, look at me," the hitter commands.

Never having heard his given name out of Eliot's mouth before, he immediately looks back up, surprise widening his eyes. The surprise morphs into shock as Eliot grabs his face with his hands and pulls him forward to kiss him gently on the lips. The kiss lasts only for a few seconds and Eliot's lips are chapped and dry but by the time he lets go Hardison almost lands on the floor instead of his stool.

"Dude! What was that?" he squeaks, his voice cracking annoyingly.

"Never again," Eliot states firmly in such a way that he can't help believing that he'll never let him be trapped in a place like that again. Not as long as the hitter's around. It still doesn't explain what just happened. "And don't ever call me dude."

Knowing Eliot's talent for cryptic explanations or denial he leaves it alone. They eat dinner, bragging about different jobs they've pulled. Neither acknowledge the elephant in the room. However, every once in a while Hardison catches him watching his lips while he talks and can't stop the grin that spreads across his face.

It doesn't occur to him until later when he's home alone that Eliot had made him forget all about his nightmare.

The End


End file.
